House Arrest
by KeDe
Summary: This is what I imagine happened after Brenda moved into her new home.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Brenda lay on her stomach, groggy from lack of sleep. She had hardly slept since moving out of the hotel and into 707 Edgemere. When she did manage to fall asleep, she had horrible nightmares about all sorts of men pulling at her. In her waking moments Brenda wouldn't have given any of them the time of day. Will had noticed her sluggishness at work and had suggested it might have been a bad idea to buy a house where someone had been murdered. Normally Brenda would have agreed. She wasn't completely insane. But the girl that was Zoya Petrovna had touched something inside her. It wasn't so much that she wanted to be near the girl's spirit but somehow she felt she owed her – as crazy as that sounded.

Brenda dragged herself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee. She smiled. The kitchen was her favorite room in the house. Zoya may have been young and a prostitute but she did well in renovating the house with granite countertops, maple cabinets, and hardwood floors that gleamed.

After she got her first whiff of the coffee as it trickled into the pot, Brenda went into the living room to do a few sit-ups with her eyes closed. As hard as she had tried she had never been able to give up her affinity for sweets, which she ate when under stress or to reward herself for a job well done. In her job she was usually stressed and she always closed her cases, so, she regularly made herself do a few sit-ups. She was thin and wiry and wanted to stay that way. However, this morning after five sit-ups she collapsed backwards on the mat and opened her eyes. That's when she noticed the tell tale stain on the ceiling.

"Oh, no," she groaned. It had been raining for three days now, ever since she had moved into the house. "Now I'm going to have to pay someone to fix the ceiling! Darnit!" She pulled herself up when the doorbell rang.

Brenda peeked out and saw a man in work clothes. "Yes?" she said, opening the door slightly.

"It's me, Jesus," the man said, making a move to come inside.

"Do I know you?"

"You better know me, you owe me money" Jesus laughed. He stopped laughing and peered at Brenda closely. "Wait, who are you?"

Brenda didn't usually like to pull rank but she thought this situation called for it. "I'm Deputy Chief Brenda Lee Johnson. That means I'm a cop, a high ranking cop, who will not be extorted—"

"Extorted? I don't know what that is but I do know the young lady who lives here owes me seven thousand dollars for the work I did in the kitchen."

Brenda's first impulse was to compliment him on the great job he had done but now didn't seem like the appropriate time. "Well, Jesus, I'm sorry to tell you that the young woman you're referring to is not able to pay you. She's dead."

He tried peeking over her shoulder into the house. "She don't seem the type to skip out on paying me but are you sure she's dead? "

"I can send you the crime scene photos. Stabbed in the back with a serrated blade." She shook her head in disbelief. "Don't you read the papers or watch the news?"

"I've been out of the country. Dominican Republic to see my family. I just got back yesterday. I only came back now because Ms. Petrovna said she'd have the rest of my money today and I could finish touching up the work."

"Well, as I've said, Ms. Petrovna no longer resides at this residence, and as far as touching up the work is concerned . . ." Brenda thought on the leak. She couldn't get him to fix it and not pay him the seven grand. Still, it didn't seem right not to pay him. But she didn't have seven grand. "I'm sorry, Jesus. You're getting soaked and I have to get to work." She attempted to close the door but he stuck his foot in.

"I'm sorry too, Miss, but I need my money."

"I kindly thank you to take your foot out of my door before I have to arrest you for trespassing!"

Jesus paused for a long moment then slowly pulled his foot out of the doorway. "You don't pay me my money?"

"I don't owe you any money. That was Ms. Petrovna, and she's dead, remember? Good day now," Brenda said as sweetly as she could manage and closed the door. She let out a deep sigh and went into the kitchen to get her coffee. She really should pay Jesus. She looked in the pantry and found a bucket to put underneath what she was sure would soon be a leak.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Brenda was a little nervous when she came home that evening. She didn't know if Jesus would be waiting for her. He seemed harmless enough but one never knew. She grabbed her mail from the mailbox and hurried inside and locked the door. She began to relax after she had downed a glass of merlot while standing in the kitchen. She poured another one and took a big sip. She jumped when the phone rang.

"Hello," she said, her words slightly slurred.

"It's me, Fritz. How you doing?"

"I'm okay," she said, leaning on the counter. "I just wish this rain would stop."

"It never rains here and suddenly we're deluged."

"Well, it needs to stop or I'm going to have a flood in my living room." She told him about the roof.

"You gotta get someone to fix that before it gets worse."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"No need to get nasty."

"I'm sorry, Fritzy. I don't know if I should of bought this place."

"What? I thought you loved that house."

Brenda's head started to hurt. "I do, at least I think I do." Could she take aspirin along with the merlot?

"I don't understand."

She rubbed her eyes. "Neither do I. I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping well. And, you remember the nice work done in the kitchen?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the guy who did it showed up here today looking to get paid seven thousand dollars. He didn't even know Zoya Petrovna was dead. He seemed sorry she was dead, although I don't know if it was because she couldn't pay him now or if he really cared. Anyway, he thinks I should pay him. Should I?"

"Do you have it?"

"No, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't get paid."

"If it's going to tear you up like this, then find the money and pay him. I can loan you half."

"You'd do that, Fritzy?" Maybe she'd borrow the other half from her parents.

Fritz chuckled. "Yes, I will, and just in case you're wondering, no strings attached."

"Oh, Fritz. You're so sweet. So kind-hearted. How in the world did you ever end up with the FBI?"

Now he laughed. "If I tell you that I'd have to kill you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After another sleepless night, Brenda dragged herself out of bed. She was too tired and wouldn't fool with the sit-ups this morning. She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower and hot as she could stand it. The heat and the steam relaxed her but made her even more groggy. Why didn't she call in and say she'd be in later? She turned off the water, toying with that idea. She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. She screamed when, instead of her own face in the steamy mirror she saw Zoya's! Clutching the towel to her face, water dripping from her body and hair, she closed and opened her eyes. The mirror was all fogged up but she was sure it was her face staring back at her now.

Brenda quickly dried herself but kept looking around. She hurried out of the bathroom and found her gun. She knew the gun wouldn't do any good on a ghost but it made her feel better. She quickly got dressed, grabbed the mail, and hurried out the door to work.

When Brenda got to work her staff was there, eating, which was what they always seemed to be doing. That is, when they weren't goofing off. Brenda usually greeted them cheerfully but this morning she didn't even acknowledge them. Instead, she went into her office and closed the door and the blinds. She was still spooked and needed a moment of quiet. Her staff wondered momentarily what was going on before they returned to their bagel sandwiches and coffee.

Sergeant Gabriel, ever sensitive to Brenda's moods, knocked on her door and stuck his head in. "You okay, Chief?"

Brenda was sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. "Come in, Sergeant Gabriel." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I should have spoken to y'all but I'm in such a bad fix."

"What's the problem?"

"I think I saw a ghost this morning."

Despite himself, Gabriel laughed. "There's no such thing as a ghost, Chief. You of all people should know that."

"Well, Sergeant Gabriel, I don't know that I do know that. I am from the south, you know. We believe in all sorts of things."

Gabriel pointed to a chair and Brenda shook her head for him to sit. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

"I think I saw Zoya in my bathroom."

"Zoya? The hooker?"

"Must we keep calling her that?"

"That's what she was, Chief."

Brenda sighed. "Well, whatever she was she was in my bathroom. I'm sure of it."

"She's dead, and has been for a few weeks now. Remember, we identified her body in the morgue? You're just spooked because you live in her house, which I will never understand."

Brenda looked at him, willing him to understand why she bought the house. "She was a young girl who was used and abused by men. She did what she had to do to survive."

Gabriel smirked. "I think you're giving her more credit than she deserves."

"She was eighteen, Sergeant Gabriel. A child. She didn't have the benefit of age to help her out."

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow and stood up. "If you say so, Chief."

Brenda sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "And I've been having bad dreams. The latest one has an old guy with a cane in it and he keeps pulling at me." She shivered, disgusted.

Gabriel smiled. "That'd be the judge. He was one of her clients. Remember?"

Now that he had said it, yes, she did remember, and she didn't want to. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. I don't need any more trouble with our colleagues." Brenda pulled her mail from her bag. A flyer caught her eye immediately. It read: "707 Edgemere is a canker and should be removed!"

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, moving towards her.

She handed him the paper. "Could that be construed as a threat?"

"Isn't that your address?"

"Yes. It was in my mailbox when I got in last night. I didn't look at the mail until now."

"I don't know if it's exactly a threat but it should be looked into. In the meantime, maybe you should—"

She glared at him, steely resolve settling in where moments before there was weariness. "Should what? Move out? Go back to the hotel?"

"Well—"

"I won't do it. I love that house and I won't be scared away by a ghost or busybody neighbors." She snatched the paper from him. "That'll be all, Sergeant."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Brenda got home that evening the first thing she saw was Jesus sitting in his truck.

"Oh, no," she grumbled. "Am I gonna have to shoot this guy to get him to leave me alone?" No, she wouldn't do that. She felt bad for the guy. After all, like most everybody else he was just a working stiff. _Bad choice of words!_ she groaned to herself.

Brenda got out of her car and approached his truck. "Jesus, you cain't camp out on my front lawn like this."

"I need my money, Miss."

"I know you do, Jesus. I didn't know Ms. Petrovna still owed you money. As a matter of fact, I didn't even know Ms. Petrovna. She was dead before I moved in. But, because I feel it's the decent thing to do, I'm going to see that you get your money. You just got to be patient for a couple of days. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, attempting to get out of the truck but Brenda blocked the door with her small body.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I finish up work now and in few days you finish paying me."

Brenda shook her head. "No, let me get the money first."

"It's okay. I wanna do good job for you. You nice lady."

Brenda was touched. Jesus was such a nice man. "Jesus, I appreciate you being so kind but no. Come back in a couple of days and I promise I'll have your money. Okay?"

"Okay, miss. If you say so."

Brenda let out a big sigh as she watched him drive off. She fumbled in her bag for her phone. She needed to call her parents right now and Fritz needed to come up with his share.

Brenda waited until after she had eaten dinner, dry tuna on crackers, before calling her parents. Explaining to her father why she needed thirty five hundred dollars wasn't as difficult as explaining it to her mother. After all the pleasantries were dispensed with, it only took less than sixty seconds to tell him why she needed the money. She had now been on the phone for thirty minutes with her mother who insisted on grilling her about every detail. It was all Brenda could do to keep from telling her what had really happened in the house. But she would never do that. Right after ordering her to return to Atlanta her mother would drop dead from shock. "It's just to pay off some renovations in the house," Brenda said for what she believed was the fifth time.

"I cain't believe you bought a house without us looking at it first, Brenda Lee."

"There wasn't any time. I'd been told that if I saw something I liked I should jump on it because it would go fast. So that's what I did . . . jumped on it." She smiled, wondering if she had jumped too fast.

"I'm going to come out and get you settled in."

"No, mama—"

"I insist. I'll be there tomorrow and I'll bring the money with me. Bye now. Gotta go pack!"

"Mama, no," but her mother had already hung up.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Brenda rested her head on the back of her chair, grateful for the quiet. There hadn't been a high priority homicide in the last forty-eight hours. Maybe the rains had driven the murderers of high priority victims underground where their vicious crimes would be discovered later. Much later, she hoped.

Will came into her office and looked at her curiously. He thought she might be sleeping, which was unusual for her to do at the office. "Brenda, I need you to resubmit your report on the Petrovna case."

"What? Why?"

"Your report, its . . . its too personal." He plopped the case file, which included Brenda's report, on her desk.

"This murder was personal – to the killer."

"Your report makes it sound as if you knew this Petrovna woman."

Brenda felt she did know her.

"You've moved into her house. Are you assuming her characteristics?"

Brenda looked at him as if he was out of his mind. "Are you asking me if I plan on going into her line of work? Well, I hadn't considered it. Do I plan on getting myself killed? No, not today—"

Will looked at her strangely. "Why are you getting so emotional?"

"Are you suggesting I'm emotional because I'm a woman?"

Now, Will looked at her as if she were the crazy one. "Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off. You look like shit."

Brenda refrained from cursing him out. That wouldn't be very lady-like. Besides, even though they had a history together, he was still her boss – as much as that irritated her. In addition to sleepiness she was also suffering from PMS. "I don't need the day off. I'll be fine."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Brenda didn't want to tell him who she thought she saw in the mirror the previous morning. He'd insist on administrative leave and counseling. Placating him was her best bet. "You're right, Will. As usual." She looked around for her bag. "I am a little tired. What with moving and cleaning." He didn't know that all she had done so far was to get rid of the bed where Zoya had been killed and cram all Zoya's clothes in the closets. She needed to get rid of that stuff. "Maybe I will take the rest of the day off. Rest up, get a good meal and tomorrow be good as new."

Will smiled liked a proud father to an obedient offspring.

Brenda stood up, grabbed her phone from the desk and her bag. "Thanks, Will. I want you to know this is completely out of character for me—"

Will raised his hands in protest. "No need to say more."

Brenda moved to the door, then paused and turned to face him. "But Will, call me if you need me to come back. Work comes first."

"Go," Will said, shooing her out the door.

Brenda looked toward the squad room. "I need to tell them something."

They walked towards her colleagues.

"Deputy Chief Johnson is taking the rest of the day off to attend to personal matters. She will return tomorrow." Will looked around the room. Gabriel had been leaning over Daniels' desk, apparently looking down her shirt and talking quietly. Tao was twirling noodles on chopsticks. Provenza had his feet on the desk napping. Sanchez was playing a game of solitaire. Flynn had just walked in with a sheepish look on his face, no doubt fresh from conspiring with Taylor. "In her absence, I'm in charge."

"Good day now," Brenda said as she hurried to the elevator. She saw Captain Taylor in the hallway.

"Well, _Chief_, how goes it? You're looking . . . you're looking like a person who lives in a house of a recent murder victim. Seems as if you haven't been able to put those demons to rest."

Brenda pushed the elevator button and turned to glare at him. "Do I need to remind you, _Captain_, that in our line of work commenting on a woman's appearance could be construed as sexual harassment?"

Taylor smiled, enjoying the banter. He looked her up and down, smirking. "No way anyone would believe that." He chuckled and continued on his way.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Although she knew where the money was coming from to pay him, Brenda was relieved not to see any sign of Jesus as she pulled into her driveway. The rains had let up, the day was still early, and she just didn't feel like being bothered. She turned off the car and gathered her things. As she got out of the car a woman approached her from across the street.

"Excuse me," the woman said, looking around as if someone might jump out of the bushes. "Do you live here?"

"Yes," Brenda said warily.

"I'm the Block Association president so it is my duty to inform you that the people on this block do not want this house here."

Brenda was not surprised but nevertheless she was appalled by the woman's gumption. "This house just happens to be my new home and unless a great wind is going to pick it up and carry it off someplace, it's not going anywhere!"

"It should be razed. Torn down. It's the scene of a recent murder, for God's sake."

Brenda licked her dry lips. "I'm well aware of that. As a matter of fact, I investigated and closed the case myself. The murderer . . . is dead. It's all over with."

"Really? I read in the papers that this house is connected with the Russian mafia. Those are dangerous people. We don't want that kind invading our neighborhood. Besides that, the tramp who lived here was a whore, excuse my French. I knew something was up, what with men coming and going all times of the day and night."

Brenda pulled the flyer from her bag. "Did you put this in my mailbox?"

The woman exhaled slowly, pursed her lips, and looked away.

"I'll take that as a yes." Brenda pushed the paper at the woman who slowly took it. "I will not be harassed by you or anyone else. I am the Deputy Chief of Police _(gosh, there she was, having to pull rank again!)_ I live here now and that's the way it's going to stay. There is no prostitution or mafia business going on in my house. Now, I'd kindly like you to stay out of my yard, unless you're here on a friendly, social visit. And, I demand that you stay out of my mailbox! Is that understood?" Brenda didn't wait for a reply. "If you and the neighbors don't like this house being here, then I suggest you find another neighborhood to move to. Is that understood?" Brenda slammed the car door shut and watched as the woman marched back across the street.

As she walked to her own front door, one of the heels on Brenda's new shoes got caught in a loose cobblestone and broke. "Darnit, she said, examining the shoe. When she got these shoes the other day she had told herself that with the mortgage they would have to last a while. So much for that. Brenda limped inside and locked the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Brenda knew she needed to get Zoya's belongings out of the closets before her mother arrived. But she couldn't bring herself to throw them away just yet. She went to the back of the house and used the rod to pull down the hatch to the attic. She could put the stuff up there for now and dispose of it later.

As she ascended the wobbly ladder, Brenda wondered if Zoya had ever been up in the attic. Although it was still gloomy outside, light filtered through the small window. It was a fairly large space but the roof dropped down a little low. Brenda looked around the room. It was obvious Zoya, or someone, had used the attic quite often. It was clean and had a chair, desk and even a little cot, all decorated in pink and white. A girl's room. There was a small bookcase in the corner. Brenda examined the titles. Most were in Russian. This space had definitely been used by Zoya. There were a few Nancy Drew mysteries and a lot of teen and fashion magazines strewn on the cot. She pulled a notebook from the shelf. Brenda opened it and, there, scrawled across the inside cover was her name: Zoya Anna Petrovna. And underneath that: _Zoya + Someone Special (soon please)._ Brenda's heart skipped a beat. She and flipped through the notebook but it was written in Russian. She gathered the books and magazines from the cot and stacked them neatly on the desk, with the notebook on top. Tears trickled down her cheeks, unheeded. She lay down on the bed and cried. Gut wrenching sobs. Zoya was just a child, trying to make it in the mean, grown up world.

TTTTTTTT

Brenda wasn't sure how long she had slept but when she awakened the room was completely dark. Although she wasn't fully refreshed, that was the best sleep she had had since moving into the house.

Brenda managed to climb back down the ladder to the floor without breaking her neck. There was no way she'd be able to get the clothes in the attic on her own. She turned on the lights and went into the kitchen. It was 9:00! She had slept the day away. Needless to say, she was starving but there was no food. The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Brenda. It's me, Fritz. Did I wake you?"

"No. I'm in my beautiful kitchen looking for something to eat."

He chuckled. "I know it's late, work you know, but I wanted to bring over the money. I can pick up some takeout if you want."

"Oh, Fritzy that'd be great! Thanks."

After she hung up Brenda rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair. She pulled up short in the bathroom doorway. She looked around before going in. Brenda knew she was being silly. A lot had happened lately, she hadn't been sleeping well, and it had all affected her imagination. Still, when she looked in the mirror while brushing her teeth it was with great caution.

When she saw the car lights flash on the window and heard Fritz slam the car door shut, Brenda hurried to open the front door. She got there just in time to see him trip on the same cobblestone where she had broken her heel. The bag of food flew out of his hand as he pitched forward and landed on his face!

Brenda ran to help him up. "Fritzy! Are you okay?" When he looked up at her she saw his bottom lip was busted.

"What just happened?" Fritz asked. He lay there a few seconds before attempting to get up.

"I broke my heel on that same stone today," she said, bending down to assist him. "Let me help you."

"No, I'm okay." He stood up and put his handkerchief to his mouth. "See if you can rescue the food."

Brenda grabbed the bag and peeked inside. The containers were still closed, thank goodness. She followed Fritz into the house.

After holding an ice pack to his lip for a while, Fritz sat down with Brenda to eat.

"At least you didn't break a tooth," she joked.

"At least."

She told him her mother was visiting tomorrow and about Zoya's clothes still being in the closets.

"Why are you holding on to her things?"

"I'm not holding on to them."

"You haven't gotten rid of them. You act as if you want to keep—."

"Oh, Fritz, don't be silly. Why would I want her clothes? I'm a professional woman with an important job and she was . . . well, you know."

Fritz smiled devilishly. "Some of her clothes might come in handy."

Brenda was appalled. "Fritz Howard, I do not intend on prancing around in her clothes for your amusement."

Fritz laughed which made his lip start hurting again.

"Good," Brenda said as she got up to retrieve the ice pack from the freezer. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Well, I'm not," he said, putting the ice pack to his mouth. "You'd look good in those types of clothes."

Brenda put her hands on her hips. "And how would you know what 'those types of clothes' look like?"

"I do have an imagination," he smiled then realized he should change the subject. "What if your mother finds her things?"

Brenda smiled sheepishly. "Well, there is an attic. The entrance is in the back of the house. I don't know if you've seen it."

"Problem. Solution. Put the stuff up there for now."

"Well, negotiating the ladder is a little precarious. I'd need some help."

Fritz looked at her matter-of-factly. "Did you have anyone in mind?"

Brenda gave him her sweetest look. "Well, since you're here . . . "

Fritz had Brenda load the first batch of clothes in the clothesbasket, which he managed to carry up the ladder using one hand to steady himself. It took five trips but they finally finished. Most of Zoya's clothes were laced teddies and jeans.

"I wonder if she went up there a lot," Fritz said on his last trip down the ladder.

"It was probably a refuge – when she wanted to get away from what her life was really like. You know, get back to basics."

"Yeah, way back. Pink and white! I mean, really. On the days she didn't have clients it looks like she reverted back to childhood."

"Don't make fun."

"I'm not making fun, Brenda. I'm just trying to make sense of it all." He tried to hug her but Brenda didn't feel like being hugged right now.

"I feel bad for her, Fritz."

"I know you do," he said, refusing to let her go. She stopped struggling and lay against his chest. He gently stroked her hair. Brenda relaxed her shoulders and closed her eyes, wondering if anyone had ever held Zoya this tenderly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When she got to the office the next morning, Brenda called her father to obtain a little detail her mother had failed to mention, her flight information. Trying to find her way around her neighborhood, or to get back and forth to work, or to a crime scene was bad enough. Brenda had no intention of risking life and limb driving to the Los Angeles airport. Instead, she arranged for a car service to pick up her mother.

Afterwards, she sat at her desk and banged out a report that she was sure would please Will. She took out all heart-warming references to the dead girl and produced a generic report. She felt that Zoya deserved better but it was the only way to put the paperwork behind her.

Just as she had finished printing the report she looked up to see her mother entering the squad room, looking sweet and bewildered as usual. Brenda smiled. She did miss her family. With new report in hand she hurried from her office and grabbed her mother in a fierce hug. "Mama, how are you?"

Her mother hugged her back then released herself and straightened her suit. "Thank you for sending the car. I felt like a celebrity."

Brenda wasn't sure if her mother was being sarcastic so she decided to let the moment pass. "I wanted to come get you myself but I needed to finish this report." She looked around and introduced her mother to her staff.

"I trust you're all treating my daughter well."

They looked from one to the other and smiled sheepishly.

Sergeant Gabriel stepped forward. "Deputy Chief Johnson is a wonderful addition to our team."

"Aren't you a gentleman?" Mrs. Johnson said. "Your mother raised you well."

Gabriel smiled, ignoring the snickering from Provenza.

"Mama, I got to hand in this report." Brenda pointed to her office. "Why don't you go into my office and wait for me?"

Fifteen minutes later Brenda returned to her office to find her mother sitting at her desk as white as a sheet. Zoya's case file lay open on the desk, the graphic pictures of her bloody body on display. Brenda rushed to the desk and grabbed the folder. "Mama, what are you doing looking through this?"

"I wanted something to read while I waited."

Brenda looked around for where to put the folder. "Well, read a magazine for chrissakes!"

"Don't you dare take Christ's name in vain. Just because you spend your time dealing with the seedy side of life doesn't mean you have to forget your upbringing."

"I'm sorry, Mama."

Sergeant Gabriel came in and Brenda handed him the folder. "Can you please file that, Sergeant?"

Gabriel glanced at the tab and looked from Brenda to her mother. "Sure, um, would you like for us to order lunch for you and your mother?"

"I don't think I could eat a thing," Mrs. Johnson said. "Such horror, what happened to that girl. But, what's the saying? Live by the sword, die by the sword?"

"My mother took it upon herself to read Zoya's case file."

Her mother frowned. "You call her by her first name? Did you know her?"

"No, Mama, I didn't. Let's just drop it, why don't we. Let's get you to the house--"

Gabriel cleared his throat.

"Yes?" Brenda said to him.

"Can I speak to you a minute, Chief?" He moved into the hallway, out of earshot of Mrs. Johnson. Brenda followed him. "Chief, does she know you live in Zoya's house?"

"No, she does not and that's they way it's going to stay."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow but didn't pursue the issue.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Brenda was relieved that she and her mother got to her house without incident. "Here we are," Brenda said cheerily.

"This is a cute house," her mother said as they walked up to the door.

"Be careful there," Brenda said, pointing to the loose cobblestone. "Gotta get that fixed."

Once inside, Brenda proudly showed her mother around. "Don't you just love it?" She didn't mention the attic.

"I recognize this house from those photographs. You bought a house where a woman was murdered?"

"Mama . . ." Brenda didn't know what else to say.

"Cain't you feel it?"

Brenda frowned. "Feel what?"

"The unquietness?"

"I don't think that's a word—"

"This house is disturbed and no wonder!"

"Mama, the house is fine. A house is just a house. It's the people that live in it that make the difference."

That night Brenda's mother insisted on staying in the living room. "I'm not going to sleep a wink all night."

_Join the club_, Brenda thought as she released the pullout sofa. She got her mother a blanket and a pillow. Her mother looked at them curiously. "They're mine," Brenda said.

Brenda fell asleep in the armchair. The next morning she awakened with a stiff neck, but at least she had slept, despite her mother's snoring.

As she got dressed, Brenda could hear her mother puttering around in the kitchen. She smiled, glad that they had both calmed down. All she needed was to have her mama in the house and all her mama needed was a good night's sleep after the long plane ride.

After breakfast, Brenda started clearing the table.

"You run along to work," her mother said.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"For what? Go on now."

"Are you sure?" Brenda asked, surprised that her mother wasn't anxious to leave the house. "Last night—"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Brenda Lee."

Brenda smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek. Her mother was probably embarrassed and wanted to forget how she had acted, which was fine by Brenda.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When Brenda returned home that evening she was surprised to see so many cars parked in her driveway. She jumped out of her car and rushed towards the house, worried that something bad had happened to her mother. Brenda wasn't prepared for what greeted her when she opened the front door: Fritz, Will, Gabriel, and two priests were gathered around her kitchen table, which had been brought into the living room. The table was covered with candles, incense and other potions. The smell of burning incense assaulted her nostrils.

Her mother lit a candle and smiled at Brenda. "Come on in dear. We've been waiting for you."

Brenda was completely speechless when Nadia Orwell came out of her bathroom. Brenda took her mother aside. "Mama, what in the world is going on here?"

"An exorcism," her mother answered. She then leaned forward and whispered to Brenda: "All these people are invited for what they mean to you. Sergeant Gabriel, because of all the others, I can tell he cares about you. As far as Mr. Pope is concerned, I know you think I don't know what went on between you two in Washington, but Mother knows all. I want him to understand there are bigger powers out there than him, should he decide not to do right by you. Fritz because as your current flame, he should give this his blessing. I learned about Ms. Orwell from that folder. She told me she feels guilty because she lured Ms. Petrovna to America. You know she's now married and has a child. She wants Ms. Petrovna's forgiveness." She took Brenda by the hand and led her to the table. "This is Father Thomas and Father Michael. My friend back home recommended them."

"We're going to rid the house of the spirit that invades it," Father Michael said.

Horrific scenes from an old movie passed through Brenda's mind. "My house does not have any spirits," she protested.

"Oh, but to the contrary," Father Thomas said. "Most buildings have spirits. This one here is not evil, just restless. We want to help it to rest."

Although they remained quiet, Brenda could tell that Fritz, Sergeant Gabriel and Will were skeptical and she couldn't blame them.

"You doubt?" Father Michael asked no one in particular.

"You know something bad happened here because my mother told you."

Father Michael grimmaced. "Yes, she did tell us. Do you think the woman's spirit is at peace?"

Brenda didn't say anything. She looked from Fritz, to Gabriel to Will. Then to Nadia. "I don't know," she finally said.

"Please," Nadia begged.

Brenda sighed and sat down. What else could she do? If the others could go along with this then so could she. What did she have to lose?

The priests sprinkled holy water about and said a whole lot of stuff, probably in Latin, Brenda thought. The exorcism was over in less than fifteen minutes. Afterwards, her mother served coffee and homemade cake.

"I feel she is at rest now," Nadia said.

Brenda smiled, although she didn't feel like smiling. Nadia needed to believe Zoya was at peace so she could forget her, forget what they had both done so she could go on with her nice, suburban lifestyle. Her mother wanted to believe so she could not only regale the ladies back home, but leave her stubborn daughter behind in a house where a young woman had been murdered.

Gabriel was there because, yes, he did care about her and he had been raised well.

Fritz didn't care about spirits or a dead prostitute, but he did care about Brenda. Hadn't he shown that in so many ways?

But Will. She couldn't figure out why he agreed to come. Certainly not because he was afraid of these other powers her mother had talked about. Was it just plain nosiness? No, her mother's unrelenting nature had gotten the best of him.

That night after her mother had fallen asleep on the sofa bed in the living room, Brenda went to her bedroom, got undressed and crawled into bed. "Good night, Zoya. Rest in peace." Brenda soon drifted off to sleep. She slept more soundly than she had since moving to Los Angeles.


End file.
